Trouble Comes in Threes
by Castile181
Summary: In happier times, the sons of Finwë attend a festival together where Arafinwë meets a mysterious young lady. Soon enough, trouble is afoot...but who is she, and was it all an accident or did his brothers have a hand in the trouble all along? One chapter short story.


**Trouble Comes in Threes**

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Well this is strange. I've never written these characters before and I never write anything short. Then, this morning, I just started writing what I thought would be a drabble but it turned into this short story. Enjoy!

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><p>"You like her don't you," Fëanáro whispered into his brother's ear. Arafinwë stood, hands clasped behind his back, watching the dancers, relishing in the feel of the summer breeze in his hair, the glimmer of the stars up above.<p>

"Oh!" Arafinwë started at his brother's voice, unaware that he had returned to his side. Fëanáro passed a full glass of wine to Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë, nervously, drained his own glass. "I…I don't know. She's, well she's lovely." His eyes lingered on the girl, her face as bright as summer, her hair as silver as a moonbeam, her gown the color of sea foam.

"Lovely?" Fëanáro scoffed as though his brother's words had offended him. "Is that what you would say to the lady of your heart, 'you're lovely'? No, no brother, say instead, 'you are as majestic, as magnificent, as ethereally beautiful as eventide when the light of the two trees blends in perfect radiance." Ñolofinwë, standing on Arafinwë's other side chuckled and raised his goblet to his lips.

"I could never say anything like that," Arafinwë said. "What if she laughed at me? It would be mortifying. And I hardly know her, I certainly can't say whether I like her or not."

"He likes her." Ñolofinwë murmured and Fëanáro laughed.

"Go to her little brother, ask her for a dance. The worst she can say is 'no,'" the oldest brother urged the youngest.

"I don't know the steps!" Arafinwë said, shaking his head rather vigorously, but Ñolofinwë only laughed and pushed his younger brother into the fray.

"You'll learn them!" He cried after him and Arafinwë all too suddenly found himself face to face with the silver-haired maiden.

"Hello," he said with an awkward grin, clearing his throat and she only laughed, taking his hand in hers and spinning round before he was passed to the next partner and through and through until he came to the end of the line of dancers and then they were going back, up, up, up and he passed by the silver-haired girl again. She was still laughing but her eyes lingered on his as he went by and a grin graced her lips.

The song came to an end to a chorus of cheers and clapping but it was only a few brief moments before the pipes and fiddles started up again, playing a cheery jig, and the dancers slowly paired off. She was making her way towards him now, a smile on her face and in her eyes and he could feel his heart thumping like a jackrabbit's hind legs.

"Your aim could have been better," she said. "You nearly missed me."

"I was not aiming…" he began.

"Hasn't anyone told you," she said, pressing a finger to his lips, "that it is unattractive to lie?" And he had nothing more to say after that, like a man struck dumb as she took his hands and began to lead him in the dance. He was certain that his brothers were standing off to the side laughing and making fun of him but he did not care, not at all, for what occupied him now was the glint in her blue eyes, the glimmer of lamplight on silver hair, the delicate hollow of her throat, the feel of her waist under his hand.

"What is your name?" He asked her as she spun out then back in.

"Why do you wish to know?" She asked.

"So that I may call on you," he said breathlessly.

"Oh?" She circled round him. "Don't you know who I am?" She asked and he shook his head, his mouth hanging slack.

"I am ashamed to say I do not," he managed to form the words, by some miracle. His mind felt numb.

"I know who you are," she said.

"Do you?" He asked her breathlessly, his voice hopeful, his heart all a flutter at the thought that such an insignificant thing as his name had passed through her resplendent mind.

"You are Arafinwë son of Finwë, a prince of the Noldor." She grinned, prancing away and back, her feet lively to the rhythm of the song. She danced with such lithe ease, as though she were born to it. "They call you 'the peaceful,' 'the gentle,' 'the wise.'"

"Then it is only fair my lady," he said, feeling as though his heart would burn to ashes if he could not know her name, "that I know who you are!" She was close, so close now, her face barely inches from his and she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"That is for me to know and you to find out." She spun away again, that teasing, inviting smile on her face and Arafinwë thought surely his heart would burst.

"Lady!" He caught her as she came back. "You will drive me mad! Give me a name, some name that I might call you by." The song came to an end and she laughed, pulling on his hand so hard he nearly lost his feet, and he went tumbling after her out of the main square and down a narrow alley packed with festival booths, games, food, paper lanterns hanging from above and the people parted gradually for them, nodding, bowing. Finarfin bowed back, assuming that they had recognized him for a prince.

She knew the city well and they moved here and there, through alleys and avenues, busy with partygoers. "Your name! Please!" He laughed and she turned, tugging on his hands, laughing all the way.

"To you I shall be a fox!" She cried.

"A fox!" He laughed. "I would have though you would choose something more nautical!"

"Fie!" She shouted back. "I said I was a fox didn't I?"

"Then I must catch you!" He cried, and she shrieked as he reached out for her, darting away, pushing past jesters and musicians and young elves dancing. They ran and ran through the cobbled streets illuminated by lanterns of all colors until she darted into a narrow, dark alley and Arafinwë followed her. She was gone, vanished. He blinked in surprise. But how could that be? There was no exit from this alley other than the way that he had just come. There. He saw a door, just barely cracked open, a sliver of light cutting the darkness.

And, foolishly perhaps, he reached for the handle, breathing hard, never thinking that this might be someone's house or some shop or some place that was not public. Slowly, he pulled the door open, slipping inside. It appeared to be a cellar of sorts, a massive dark room filled with barrels and sacks of grain. There was a small wooden staircase where light was shining down and, somehow, he knew that she must be up there. He set foot upon stair and began to climb, slowly, quietly. The festival music outside was still loud enough to be heard here and it disguised any noise he might have made.

But he reached the top of the stair and no one was there either. He found himself in a large kitchen, very large, too large for a normal house and that was when he began to wonder where exactly he was. The place seemed deserted. But that was natural he supposed, for the servants of this family were doubtlessly enjoying the festival. Perhaps she worked here. He crept through the kitchen and out into the corridor.

"Fox?" Has called tentatively into the corridor and then the stone ended and he found himself in a magnificent room, a room where the walls shone with mother of pearl and he gasped. He knew this place. He had been here before once or twice as a child. This was Olwë's palace. "Little fox?" He called again. "Perhaps we should not be here."

"Nonsense," the voice came from behind him and he turned to see her, arms crossed over her chest, grinning up at him, one eyebrow raised. "I go wherever I like."

"Have you…have you been following me this whole time?" He asked her. She nodded and then they laughed and laughed. "You work here?" He asked and she nodded again.

"In a way." She laughed. "Come with me!" And she took his hand, pulling him through hall after hall, room after room, all deserted. At last they reached the throne room, lit only by a few lanterns, high up at the topmost of the castle and the myriad of windows were all a light with the merriment of the festival outside. Strings of lanterns descended from the roof of the palace to the city below. Running the length of the room, she threw all of the windows open, letting the warm summer breeze in and turned to him, laughing at her display of extravagance.

"If Olwë finds us…" he stammered. "You…I…we could be in trouble…"

"I've already told you," she said. "Nonsense!" And he forgot his concerns in her laughing eyes. She ran back to him, taking his hands, and pulled him to the window, looking down on the harbor.

"There. Look," she pointed at the ships bobbing gently in the water, alight with lanterns hanging on their masts and in the water around them floated little paper boats laden with candles. It was a wondrous sight, the whole harbor alight in soft flame.

"It's beautiful!" He exclaimed. And truly it was, though not half as beautiful as her. She laughed, tugging on his hands and he turned to face her.

"Say something fantastic!" She urged him and he wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that but he was determined to try for her sake.

"I…uh…" he licked his lips and swallowed. His throat felt unnaturally dry. "You…" he tried to remember what Fëanáro had said, "you are as majestic, as magnificent, as ethereally beautiful as eventide when the light of the two trees blends in perfect radiance." He told her, and he thought it too. The next thing he knew, she had pulled his face down to hers, one hand in his hair, and kissed him firmly on the lips. He felt as though his heart would leap out of his chest and through the open window like a fish seeking the ocean below.

It was all the urging he needed and his hands went to her in a mad frenzy, clasping her tightly to him. He felt her firm breasts against his chest, her hips against his. He wrapped his arms around her lithe waist and she threw hers around his shoulders as he kissed her deeply, so deeply. He stopped and grinned against her lips, could feel her laughing.

"Don't stop now!" She whispered. "I want to kiss you again!" And they did kiss, again, and again, and again. She was insatiable and Arafinwë thought his mouth would be sore the next morning but he found that he cared not at all, for what was a little pain compared to the softness of her lips, the warmth of her mouth? They were both breathing hard and broke apart for a moment.

And he dared, oh yes he dared, to reach out, to touch the soft skin of the gentle swell of her heaving breast that crested the top of her bodice.

"Oh you rogue!" She said, quite pleased with his uncharacteristic boldness, and then she laughed again and he pulled her to him, his hand firmly grasping that breast now, his mouth eagerly at work on her mouth, her hands undoing the clasps of his princely tunic and then he slowly became aware of the lanterns being lit, and of the thud of the door closing behind someone who had entered, and a low, deadly voice coming at him from across the room.

"Son of Finwë, I would kindly ask that you unhand my daughter this moment." Olwë's voice.

Even that was not quite enough to pull Arafinwë away from her and it was only reluctantly that he stopped, turning to face the King of the Teleri, looking a good deal less decent than he would have hoped to in such a situation.

"My, my, the last time I saw you was when you were a little child. How you have grown." The King quipped. But there was no humor in his tone, only the solemnity of a threat.

"Your….your royal highness." He stammered, trying to smooth his clothes and fix the tunic clasps that she had, he was only now realizing, not opened, but torn off completely. His body was betraying him in the most wretched of ways. "I…my apologies. I did not know."

Olwë was a frightening sight even under normal circumstances, among the tallest of elves, taller even than Finwë, with hair as pure white as snow that hung long and straight to his waist, skin so pale that the purple of his veins nearly showed through, and with piercing blue eyes, the only bit of color in his otherwise colorless face. Arafinwë's father had told him of creatures called wraiths, lifeless creatures, colorless creatures that seemed like the living dead, servants of Melkor. And though he knew that Olwë was not evil, he could not help but imagine those creatures when he looked upon the Telerin king. He was positively terrifying.

"Yes." Olwë said, looking distinctly unamused. "I believe I will have a word or two with your father. I would have thought better of one of Finwë's sons. You are Arafinwë are you not? And here they told me that _you_ were the wise one!"

"Father!" The silver-haired maiden ran to Olwë's side, placing a delicate kiss on her father's cheek. "I'll be back outside to play then and let you deal with this intruder."

"I hope you are pleased with yourself, Eärwen," Olwë said dryly, watching her go before his eyes settled upon Arafinwë once more.

Thirty minutes later the prince, his heart pounding from fear now rather than desire, scuttled rather than strode down to the quay where his brothers were lounging and drinking.

"Arafinwë!" Ñolofinwë cried, rising and throwing his arms open. "Tell us! How went your little foray, eh?" He elbowed his brother cheerfully. "Had a bit of fun at last have you?"

"Not so well actually." Arafinwë said, still breathless. "Fëanáro, have mercy," he begged and his oldest brother obliged, handing him a goblet of wine which he downed quickly.

"She put you off did she?" Fëanáro asked. "You should have used my line!"

"No," Arafinwë gasped, shaking his head vigorously.

"Well then I'd say it went quite well!" Ñolofinwë laughed.

"That's Olwë's daughter." Arafinwë gasped, his heart still pounding wildly. He put a hand to his chest.

"What?" Ñolofinwë and Feanro cried in unison, suddenly looking appropriately concerned.

"That is Olwë's daughter!" Arafinwë cried. "The princess of Alqualondë. That is Eärwen!" His eyes were wide with panic. "He caught us, her father did…in a less than decent situation!"

At that Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro lost all pretense of concern and laughed until they snorted, until they look fit to die. "The golden boy falls from grace at last!" Fëanáro crowed. Ñolofinwë had tears leaking from his eyes.

"Well goodness. Just exactly how far did you get?" He asked his brother.

"We were…we were kissing…vigorously! In his throne room!" Arafinwë choked out. "I…I had my hand down her bodice and she…well her hands were…she had me half bare!"

"Which half?" Fëanáro asked, raising a dark brow.

"Damn you! You knew didn't you! You knew who she was!" Arafinwë cried, and the laughter of his brothers confirmed it. He chucked the brass goblet at Fëanáro's head and missed.

"Don't be so droll little brother," Ñolofinwë said. "It was all in good fun. And besides, you did have a pleasant time did you not? We have done you a service. You owe us now."

"First time he ever touched a woman, no doubt," Fëanáro whispered into his brother's ear. Ñolofinwë laughed.

"Valar!" Arafinwë threw himself down on the quay beside his brothers, looking the picture of a distressed lover. "I shall go mad if I cannot see her again!" Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro toasted over his head.

"To love!" Fëanáro said.

"And breasts!" Ñolofinwë cried. A chorus of cheers rose up from the other drunken elven men lounging along the docks.

"Father will never forgive me," Arafinwë worried. "Olwë swore up and down that he would be coming to Tirion to have words with father over what I have done. He was furious. I have disgraced his daughter."

"Our brother is being dramatic," Fëanáro said to Ñolofinwë.

"It is all of the 'love' pumping through his veins," Ñolofinwë replied before turning to Arafinwë. "I wouldn't say she is disgraced," he said with a chuckle, "it sounds as though she was very eager."

"Well, say, if Olwë really is serious about going to talk to father will he not bring the lady with him as well. For surely she must have something to say about it," Fëanáro said. His words brought his younger brother some comfort.

"Yes, that's right. She'll surely come as well," Ñolofinwë chimed in.

"And what must I do when I see her again?" Arafinwë exclaimed nervously, frantically. "How can I win her heart?"

"Why, you must sweep her off of her feet," Fëanáro said, brandishing his goblet.

"And how shall I manage that?" Arafinwë asked.

"You must impress her."

"Impress her, how?" Arafinwë's older brothers laughed at his confusion before slapping him about the shoulders and forcing another goblet of wine into his hands.

"Don't worry," Ñolofinwë said. "We'll teach you."


End file.
